


Cherries Jubilee

by daisygonezu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Post-Time Skip, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Unresolved Sexual Tension, first time getting high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisygonezu/pseuds/daisygonezu
Summary: There was nothing in the world more inherently erotic than the way Kiyoomi’s tongue slid across that rolling paper.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 195





	Cherries Jubilee

**Author's Note:**

> as a stoner, i felt obligated to create a self-indulgent weed fic ft. shotgunning bc that's sexy asf. 
> 
> the breakdown:  
> \- post-time skip; they're both around like 25-27 maybe?  
> \- sakusa has somehow managed to obtain "medical" marijuana (i am aware that it's illegal in japan, but i was too lazy to look up the intricacies of the laws so just take what i give pls)  
> \- atsumu has never smoked weed before; sakusa smokes semi-frequently  
> \- the unresolved sexual tension tag is bc they both radiate sexual frustration, which ultimately spills over
> 
> take any fundamental errors w/ a grain of salt.

There was nothing in the world more inherently erotic than the way Kiyoomi’s tongue slid across that rolling paper. 

Atsumu had asked him why he even had all this stuff in the first place, but what he got in response was a garbled string of murmurs, something along the lines of “anxiety and stress,” so he didn’t try to probe for extra information. The fact of the matter was that Kiyoomi had texted him ( _asked_ him) to come over and smoke, and Atsumu would be nothing if not a horrible teammate if he didn’t oblige. It couldn’t be so bad, right? Shouyou had told Atsumu that he’d smoked while in Rio, that it was the kind of numbness that made you sink a bit deeper into the couch once it kicked in, that it was relaxing. 

But now look at where he’d ended up. 

Atsumu felt his cheeks burn nervously when Kiyoomi set aside the joint he’d been rolling and began to grind the buds for another, dexterous fingers bent over the canister with an absentminded expression thrown across his face. He didn’t seem particularly concentrated, but Atsumu imagined he was rather picky about the quality. Not that he had any idea how preparing weed worked—just watching Kiyoomi was enough. 

He had already rolled six, though...

Atsumu opened his mouth, struggling to piece together what he wanted to say, but blurted it out anyway when the pressure of silence became too overbearing, “Are we smokin’ _all_ of those?”

His eyes were immediately drawn to the way Kiyoomi’s moles stretched across his forehead when he looked up from the grinder with a single brow raised. 

“Are you trying to put yourself in a coma?” It wasn’t a question, but a deadpan, and Atsumu wanted to bury his face in the nearest pillow just so Kiyoomi would stop looking at him like he was a middle schooler. _Fuck, that was embarrassing._

“We’re using this,” he continued, gesturing to the bong sitting at the opposite end of the low table to Atsumu’s right, “The joints are for me.” 

“ _Y’er_ gonna smoke all of those?” 

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, “Not in a single day, dumbass. Usually just one or two each week. Sometimes none at all. It depends.” 

Atsumu ignored the casual insult, “Depends on what? Practice? Games? Or do you have a schedule so that it doesn’t get picked up on the association’s drug tests?” 

“... I coordinate for that kind of stuff.” 

_Stuff_. 

Atsumu barked out a chuckle, a resonating “ _Ha!_ ” that momentarily tore Kiyoomi’s attention away from the grinder again. He leveled Atsumu with a glare before wetting his lips to seal the rolling paper, and all at once Atsumu’s laughter died in his throat to watch the spectacle. 

_The glide was so smooth, Kiyoomi’s tongue so pink, the room so warm_ —Atsumu suddenly registered how potent the smell was. He forced himself to look away from Kiyoomi’s lips in favor of prodding at the large, black capsule beside the bong containing the rest of the buds, the source of the pungent odor.

“S’like a skunk,” He scowled, “Y’er gonna open a window, right?”

Kiyoomi sighed, “You’re a real idiot, aren’t you?”

“Hey-”

“I’m not getting arrested because you wanted to crack a window. Suck it up. We probably smell like it anyway.”

And for a while after that, Atsumu stayed quiet and let Kiyoomi focus on the weed, watched him repeat the grinding process three more times until a total of ten neatly rolled spliffs were lined up beside each other. Kiyoomi slipped them into a plastic bag and squeezed the excess air out before stashing it away in the drawer of a shelf beside his couch, the one opposite to Atsumu’s seat across from him. Now that he’d finished his original task, his attention was back on Atsumu. 

“Have you smoked with Hinata?” The way he asked almost sounded like an afterthought, as if Atsumu’s answer was barely significant in the greater spectrum of things as he dragged the bong across the low table until it rested in front of him. 

Atsumu blinked, “Huh? No way, man...” _Had he forgotten that marijuana was very much_ illegal _in Japan? Did he not realize how outrageous it was to have such a large stash in his apartment?_ Atsumu had never even seen a joint outside of the old Jamaican movies Aran showed him when they were kids; his teammate ( _this teammate in particular_ ) owning so much illicit contraband was a slap to the face. 

“Oh,” Kiyoomi looked _bored_ , “Well, the bowl’s already packed. Have at it, I guess.” 

Have at it? _Have at it?_

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu tried his best to be patient, to convey his confusion in a manner that didn’t make him look like a total virgin while simultaneously expressing that he was, in fact, terribly lost, “I dunno what the fuck I’m supposed to do with this.” 

It was going to have to be a learning process. Kiyoomi was the one who’d invited him in the first place, so if he wanted Atsumu to be there that badly, he’d have to deal with his inexperience. He spun the bong on its axis so that the bowl was facing Atsumu, took the lighter in hand, and then ignited it so that the cannabis inside glowed a vibrant orange. Atsumu saw smoke starting to form in the pipe, but Kiyoomi quickly pulled the lighter away. 

“First: inhale. Then light it, but keep inhaling. When you start to feel the smoke entering your lungs,” He gestured to the flower, ground up into fine little pieces thanks to his own personal effort, “You’ll know it’s been lit properly if it cherries.” _Ah, so that was what the orange part was called._

Kiyoomi continued, “Keep the bowl facing away from you, like how it is from me right now. Basically, just inhale until you can’t anymore, but you have to pull the bowl out,” He lifted the metallic container away from the bong, pointing around the area of its origin for re-insertion. “Got it?”

 _No_. 

“Yeah, sure,” Atsumu said quickly, “You go first.”

Kiyoomi didn’t give a verbal reply, but with his lips slotted comfortably into the mouthpiece, Atsumu assumed he’d be getting the free tutorial he wanted. He paid rapt attention to the way Kiyoomi’s chest expanded with air, the prominent strike of flint as he reignited the lighter above the bowl. A bubbling noise reverberated throughout the room as vapor slipped into his lungs, but Kiyoomi took it in stride, eyes closed and more tranquil in that moment than Atsumu had ever seen him before. Lifting the bowl, he continued to suck in the remnants of smoke until his diaphragm couldn’t handle it. 

And when he lifted his head, Atsumu was privileged enough to watch his lips pucker around a voluminous cloud that stung his eyes and seeped into the roots of his scalp as Kiyoomi exhaled his toke. 

Atsumu forced himself to gulp down the knot in his throat. He felt feverish for reasons he couldn’t explain, but in the vaguest depths of his mind, he had a feeling it was caused by the single, inky black curl that fell over Kiyoomi’s brow, how his lips shined with spit and perspiration and some expensive brand of chapstick Atsumu had never heard of, probably cherry-flavored since Atsumu had seen him carrying a tube around in his bag. It seemed as though his eyelids drooped instinctively, a blitz Atsumu had yet to experience flooding his nervous system. 

Kiyoomi sniffled, sliding the bong towards him with a languid sort of elegance that only he could achieve, “Your turn.” 

It took Atsumu a second to realize he was being spoken to, so enthralled was he with the way Kiyoomi’s legs spread further and further apart on the cushions beneath them. 

“My turn.” 

“ _Your_ turn,” He reiterated, a drawl that slithered beneath Atsumu’s waistline and nestled right into his crotch like a serpent.

“Okay,” Atsumu said, reaching out to grasp the neck of the bong hesitantly, “So, just inhale and light it, then keep inhaling.”

“You’ll probably cough,” Kiyoomi said. 

“S’fine. You know it better than I do, but... Is there any way to make it not hurt?”

Kiyoomi laid one arm across his abdomen, the other flung palm-up across the couch. His head was tilted upward a bit, neck craned back so that Atsumu could see directly into his nostrils if he wanted to, but that wasn’t where he was looking. Atsumu inspected the bong in exactly the same manner a newborn baby ogled at the world around it, mouth opened and eyes widened. Kiyoomi suddenly had a brilliant idea. 

He’d wait to take action, though. 

“I can think of one,” Kiyoomi said slowly, running his tongue along the sides of his gums to pick up more saliva. The cottonmouth was starting to get to him, “But try it normally first.” 

Atsumu nodded, fully trusting of his teammate to not lead him astray in this. Pressing his lips into the mouthpiece, he began a steady inhale from the moment the lighter’s flame hit the bowl again, brows furrowed in concentration as all of his attention was diverted to the glass instrument lying in his hands. 

For a second it felt like nothing was happening and Atsumu was wasting his breath on thin air as he tugged the bowl from its slot, but then he noticed it—thick and cool vapor spilling passed the barricade of his teeth, tumbling down his windpipe until he had to tear the bong away from his lips and sputter. The coughs were hoarse and his chest burned with the pain of a foreign substance, and the taste alone had him squeezing his eyes shut with tears slipping out the corners. He blinked them away with a gasp and turned his stare to Kiyoomi, who was eyeing him lazily across the low table, the faintest traces of a smirk flitting across his cheeks before vanishing. 

“Y’er laughin’ at me!” Atsumu croaked indignantly, letting out a few more coughs, “Cut it out, Omi-kun.”

“ _S’fiiiiiine-_ ” Kiyoomi sighed, slapping a hand against his knee in amusement.

Atsumu’s pupils dilated at that. 

“-Everyone coughs the first time,” He finished, throwing himself forward with the momentum of his own body weight to grab at the neck of the bong again, “Sit still. I’ll show you somethin’ good.”

Atsumu couldn’t feel the immediate sense of utopia his teammate had, only the throb of aching muscles beneath his sternum. But as he watched Kiyoomi bend onto his knees and lean across the table, all of the previous soreness numbed as he realized just how close Kiyoomi was to him now, how he smelled like aftershave and Febreeze and something completely unique to himself.

“S’it gonna hurt?” Atsumu asked. 

“Nah...” Kiyoomi flicked the lighter experimentally, preparing to douse the bud in flame once more, “It won’t hurt. Head back.”

He tapped the bottom of Atsumu’s chin with his free hand, index and middle fingers forcing it toward the ceiling so that he could clearly see Atsumu's Adam’s apple bob up and down. 

_This was a leap of faith—the true motive behind Atsumu’s invitation to his apartment. If the end result was a failure, he could blame it on the weed. His excuse was lined up, alibi constructed flawlessly. All Atsumu needed to do was react the way Kiyoomi hoped he would._

Atsumu kept his head back as instructed, but his eyes lingered forward, tracing the veins in Kiyoomi’s wrist that he could still manage to see in the poorly lit room. When he heard the telltale bubbling of bong water, he opened his mouth to take a deep breath instinctively as if he was the one preparing to smoke and not Kiyoomi, except the smoke never came. Not immediately, anyway. Not until Kiyoomi lunged forward, palms scooping Atsumu’s jaw into his hands, fingers squished against his cheeks so that his lips formed a narrow tunnel for Kiyoomi to blow into, and that was when Atsumu felt it. Kiyoomi’s exhale was Atsumu’s inhale, the transference of smoke from one set of lungs to the other, but besides the sudden and overwhelming sensation of Kiyoomi’s hands on his face, that wasn’t the only thing Atsumu felt. 

Their lips were mere centimeters apart. It wouldn't take much for Kiyoomi to close the gap, and he did so earnestly. He trapped Atsumu’s lips in a tight, aggressive seal, forcing the last of his toke into Atsumu’s lungs with a forcefulness that didn’t even begin to compare to how he played on the court. 

Both parties kept their eyes open, even as Atsumu sucked in a gasp through his nostrils, and even when Kiyoomi separated for the briefest of seconds just to dive back in with his tongue. For a whole minute, Kiyoomi kept Atsumu pinned to the shelf behind him. 

The impact was loud, a bang that was sure to leave a bruise on Atsumu’s back the following day—teeth knocking against each other, lips molded together in a frenzy, all the while Kiyoomi grasped Atsumu’s chin with the same two fingers. _Head back_ , Kiyoomi had said. _Atsumu took the order exceptionally well._

A string of spit stretched between their tongues when Kiyoomi finally let go. He wiped it off the corner of his lips with the back of his thumb and peered down at Atsumu with a wretched smirk that hid only half of the thoughts racing through his head. He wanted to kiss him again. Wanted to pin him against the cushions instead of that damned shelf. Wanted to do so much more than what he’d otherwise be incapable of unless he was under the influence like this. 

He did none of that. Atsumu was a panting mess, eyes glazed over in what was either ecstasy or unbridled confusion—Kiyoomi couldn’t tell, but either way, he looked content despite the whirlpools in his vision, and Kiyoomi didn’t want to interrupt that. Not when this was the first time he’d been blown out via shotgunning, and certainly not when this was his first time getting high to begin with. 

Kiyoomi kneeled back to his original spot on the cushions, taller than Atsumu even though they were both sitting, and tried not to look too smug as he picked up the lighter to play with. 

“That hurt?” He asked. 

“ _Do it again_.” 

Mind boggled with his high, Kiyoomi’s lips tasted like weed and cherries jubilee, so Atsumu was the one to straddle him after that.


End file.
